Wandering
by Arya May
Summary: In which Prussia and Germany have their final meeting in the ruins of Berlin after WWII, before each goes their seperate ways, a forced ultimatum. He can barely stand up, and yet he must swallow the pains of dissloution, despite all odds given...


_**A/N: So lately, the topic of post WWII has been a huge interest to me. And then, I noticed I had this story on my computer that I completely overlooked, so why not paste it on? This is written in Germany's first person perspective on what happened when the country split in two, as well as what his brother was going through as the pain of dissloution finally came upon him...**___

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><p><em>(-Germany-)<em>

Your tears blur your vision to the grey, deary dawn in which the Allied- and former nations of the Axis Powers- excepting Japan and China, still at war and toil in Asia- stood, silent and matching the mood the day offered in which no light was to fall on the remnants and ruins of post war Berlin.

_How long has it been_, you ask yourself as you feel America's grip tighten around your wrists- a silent warning,_ since I have last allowed myself to cry?  
><em>England's hand digs into your shoulder, either out of reluctant pity- which you refuse to acknowledge, even in the state you were in now- or for fear that you would bolt to your brother who could barely stand on his own two feet beside that insufferable Russian bastard who holds himself with the haughtiness of a king- no, a tyrant was more the words- and the malice of the devil at seeing the defeated shells of his victims once as high in power as him. Prussia is evidently in crippling pain, and even more so then you, because his wounds refuse to heal- further fueling Russia's own twisted idea of amusement.

It enrages you so much to see him like this, but the rage is at only _yourself_ because _you _are the one responsible for all of this, the pathetic fool you were to be directly munipulated by Hitler's well covered lies. You make a last ditch attempt to get closer to him, the former empire that was now so weak and fragile the wind itself seems to be enough to break him, but America's unrelenting iron grip prevents you to do so. You were a defeated nation too, and you have nothing left now- not even your own sibling who raised you and fought beside you for all these centuries past.

His bird chirps mournfully from on his head as you cry out his name.

"Live, West." the albino's grin is tinted with pain that he cannot hide, "When this is all over...I'll come back and get so fucking high on alcohol I'll forget my own awesome name. That- that won't be so long. You'll probably kick me out of your stupid house after a week, heh?"

You do not know how to reply to the weak jest attempted, but anything would be better then the situation now, and grit your teeth as the tears finally leak out of their wells and pour down in rivers down your dirt streaked face. France shakes his head, uncomfortable. He never supported the idea for his friend to be handed to the Soviet Union as a _war spoil,_ out of all things. It makes you tremble by just thinking about what your brother had been degraded to, when you yourself should have shouldered all the blame.

"West. Stop acting like a wuss..." Prussia's voice falters, "Soldiers don't...they don't cry over shit like this-" he breaks down into a series of coughs that rakes his body and spits out a mouthful of blood, "...not...awesome..."

The pain is ripping you apart, seeing him fall apart in front of you while you are being held back like this, unable to do anything, _anything at all._You hate them. All of them. You haven't yet forgotten his expression when you told him that it was decided he was no longer to be a nation- while they made that desicion without batting an eye at a meeting he was too sick to attend to. There is still blood on your bedsheets, and there still would be, because it will never wash out. You tremble as those horrible memories make themselves apparent again, and perhaps if it wasn't for the two holding you up, you would have collapsed right there.

"I'm sorry."

It was a whisper, one that you doubted that he had heard. He had always hated apologies, you knew, but there was so little you could do, this particular act of trivial nothing only seemed the most obvious thing to do at this moment. The two words meant close to nothing, for you could have repeated them a thousand times over and they would still change none of what did happen. He was your brother, but you had not held that title in equality. You were a blinded fool- wandering through that daydream you thought was stark reality, but really was a warped one of your own creation fuled by a madman's desire and your own desperation in wanting to believe and make that dream into a vision of the world that will never be achieved. You ignored all of his warnings. You didn't see how he was dying right infront of your eyes day by day. You had been responsible for destroying him, and now you were only destroying him further.

"_Let him go," _you hear yourself cry, "Let him go! Do you even understand...do you undertsand what you have done at all?"

America tries to talk, but your shouts drown out his voice, echoing throughout the empty streets. It doesn't matter though. You don't want to hear what he's saying.

"The _Russiche bastard _will kill him." your voice cracks, and sobs rack your frame that you no longer can contain. The Allies look stunned- for they have never saw you lose control like this. Italy tries to approach you but you glare at him with such hatred he backs up, nervous. Two backstabs was enough knowledge you had needed to know about him, who you before thought was a friend , "You think I don't know about about how he _beats them_? You think how I don't know about how he's abused them to such an extent they look as though they're looking at the face of Death just when the word _"Russia" _is spoken?"

Your eyes are alight with a mixture of fear, regret and anger, " They were _glad _when I invaded them. _Glad_! You've given my brother up to...to _a monster._"

They look away, but you do not miss the momentary fear that eclipses their impassive deamour. They hate him too, you know, but they do not respond to your plea. It was too late now to change the treaty, but that doesn't stop you from bearing your teeth in anger as they simply allow your one and only sibling to be forced into a death trap that could have been avoided. Wasn't simply stripping him of his right as a nation enough without this additional pain? You close your eyes before you whip your head back, gaze cold and unreadable, meeting that of your former enemies- no, still enemies to you for taking Prussia away from this land- _you two's land- _to the madhouse ran by the Soviet Union.

"You owe me your life, France," you spat, "I could have let you die after I annexed your nation. _I could have destroyed everything that you were made of because it was fully in my power to do so._ Instead, I let you run off with your tail between your legs to England. I could have driven you, England, to insanity by my air raids. _I could have broken your mental state to a point of beyond recognition_, but I chose not to. And now...my brother is to be the one blamed?"

You turn your bloodshot orbs onto Russia now, and held his gaze as his mocking smile danced across his features, a direct challenge that thickened the atmosphere to such a degree that it could be seemingly cracked. Prussia shifts awkwardly, and the dirt under his boots give off a grim crunch.

" West." when he speaks, his voice is hollow, " I'm the fucking older brother here. Worry about your own problems. I can do whatever I fucking want." he gives the nation standing beside him a wayward sneer, "He won't _kill_ me, _mein bruder_. I'm too awesome for that to happen, and in case you haven't forgotten- you're the one that needs mending. I've seen things, done things, and felt enough of an extent of pain to make your hair curl- so quit being such a pansy for my case. Just...stay alive. Don't give a damn about anything else other-"

"East-"

_"Schweigen_! I'll be back sooner then you think." his strained smile is hardly convincing, " Just get those beers ready for the awesome, okay?"

You feel America's grip slacken (intentionally?), and lunge forwards with an unexpected burst of adreneline, ignoring England's shout of protest, and fall into the albino's arms as you cry into his shoulder, just like all those times once long ago when you were still a child, before this war that destroyed everything happened and all those dark blots in history you wished had never been there. Even if the inevitable could not be avoided, it could still be postponed, and anesthesia was a good substitute for reality while it lasted. He runs his fingers through your dirty hair, a parting condolence that for a second, bought up a temporary memory of a time when it was just the two of you and no one else to disturb the circle. No war, no hatred, no politics to mess up the fantasised dream that now was no more, and had been gone for as far back as you could remember.

"Be calm, West." your brother whispers, _"Verdammt_. You're acting like a complete sissy today, mm?"

But you notice how he's shaking too, even though he doesn't cry. He had always been the stronger one, and he was till so- mentally, even if your positions of power were now reversed as of the present. You couldn't calm yourself, because you don't know if this would be the last of the times you two would be together like this. You didn't know what _he_would do to the ex- nation under his hand. If there was a literal definition of Hell, then the present was a situation worse then Hell.

England clears his throat, and you hear Russia laugh in his way that always brings onto everyone in his vicinity a raking chill. The anesthesia broke, and the old horror dawned upon reality once more.

"If you do _anything_ to him, " you snarl at the larger nation, " If you go as far as to harm one hair on his head, I'll kill you. I don't care how many times I get shot along the way...I don't care how many I have to kill, _but I will destroy your Union stone by stone. Mark my words._" the poison that seeps through your voice is enough to kill but the nemesis himself.

He grabs onto Prussia's arm, who fails to shake the Russian off, " Dogs with no bite are not very scary, _da_?" that infamous smile that he perfected is back on his face, "Germany...West Germany...whatever you are now...never forget your place. You are nothing now- _nothing. And don't you _ever _forget that."_

The words struck deeper a wound then the pain of a thousand knives, because at that moment, you knew that all his words were true...

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><p>REVIEW PLEASE! (flails arms around wildly)<p> 


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